Batman Long Days, Gotham Knights
by Echo of the Bat
Summary: The world needed a hero and perhaps Gotham needed one more than the rest of the world. We had one for a time and for a time we had hope. But the problem with ideals like hope is that when they are given human form they have human weaknesses...
1. Chapter 1 The Scream

I disagree with them. Whatever they say, I disagree.

The world needed a hero and perhaps Gotham needed one more than the rest of the world. We had one for a time and for a time we had hope. But the problem with ideals like hope is that when they are given human form they have human weaknesses.

All it took was just one bullet to kill Gotham's hope. "The bullet that killed the bat" was on display like a trophy in the criminal underworld. They even had the audacity to charge admission to see it in the back room of some south-side dive. When the cops came, I hear they even charged Gordon. Just goes to show the kind of sway the criminal underworld has in Gotham now that Batman is gone.

When he was still on the streets, there was peace. His stubborn message about the resilience of the human spirit drove back the darkness in Gotham for almost five years. For five years we could go out at night and the only ones who felt fear where the men with the eyes that watched us from the shadows. They were scared of HIM. At first they were scared of HIS power and HIS vigilance, but in time that spirit- that icon he became, emboldened us all. Vigilante groups drove back the time of scum that plagued our city. Together we were unstoppable! With the Dark Knight as our inspiration we saw the sun rise for the first time on a world cast in darkness for so long.

But all that stopped with a bullet. "Icons in human form" and all that… human weakness suck.

Slowly the vigilante groups grew quiet and complacent.

Even the police caved.

The sun that had grown so close to rising set once more and night fell on the streets of Gotham.

~Batman~

_Long Days, Gotham Knights_

_Chapter 1_

_The Scream_

I don't remember when I first got started, maybe in the elementary school's paper, but I've always had a "thing" for writing. I'd write stories when I was younger about stupid things like knights and superheroes I saw on the Saturday morning cartoons. When I got older, I just wrote about superheroes I saw on the Saturday evening news. Big change of pace, I know.

But there was always something "big" about heroes. They meant "more" to me than the other articles I'd write every week.

While the latest drug bust set a crime syndicate back two months, a single low-life caught jacking a car by Batman had a deeper impact. People would witness him doing it and see that crime didn't pay and then I'd write about it. The next morning, everyone would know about it. When I wrote for the Gotham Gazette I felt like I was helping him win back the city. While he swooped over the skyscrapers late at night, I burned the midnight oil getting tomorrow's article ready for print.

There was an unspoken comradely I felt with him, even though we'd never meet. As I wrote about him, I felt like I knew him. I felt like I could get into his pointy-eared head and decipher the reason's he did things.

When Robin- the boy wonder, came to the world's attention I empathized. He was the same way I was. I was one of the paper's youngest journalists and I was trying to carve out my legacy in a world of giants. He was the boy living in the shadow of the Bat and I could almost hear him screaming for recognition.

To that end, I decided to give him his own article.

"Who is the Boy Wonder?"

That's where it all started.

I asked myself "Who is the Boy Wonder" and when I had finished I had found out.

Surprisingly, it wasn't that hard. A few pictures matched to local students. A lot of coffee, a some digging, a bit of off the clock investigation of financial records down at city hall, and I put the pieces together.

Dick Grayson.

Richard "Robin" Grayson was the boy wonder… and his mentor Batman…

I struggled with that. Releasing it to the press. I had conclusive evidence that Dick was Robin but should I share it? I thought back to my childhood and asked if the boy who wrote about yesterday's episode of Dragon Ball Z would have revealed Dick's identity.

With a sigh, I deleted my files and gave him a head start. I fingered some of the world's most talented child actors and made it into a publicity piece that their agents are still thanking me for.

But who was the Batman?

It was a thought that kept me up a lot during that time.

I matched faces. I dug. I traced leads.

But nothing.

Even his voice was all wrong. He clearly changed it…

But then, then one night I found it. I found the first little crack in the wall that was Batman.

I dug my nails into that little crevice and pulled myself up. Wrenching with pain, I worked long hours at the Gazette and stayed up all night coming the evidence. First it was a parking ticket paid for by Wayne Enterprises to a citizen who had their car wrecked by Batman. Next it was mysterious financials and clandestine expenditures on Wayne Enterprises tax returns. I searched power grids and traced inconsistencies in their power levels. If Batman was operating around Gotham, he had to have juice to power his little toys.

It all came together. It all came to a head.

I was living the dream.

I'd put it all together after two long years.  
>I knew who he was.<p>

I knew where he lived.

I knew his mind and I was finally going to meet him face to face.

However… I was too late. Minutes too late.

Maybe even seconds too late.

It was the bullet.  
>The damn bullet.<p>

The bullet pierced just below his second thoracic vertebrae, severing his T2 spinal nerve. It was an instant death.

That wasn't the case for the rest of us though. Even though we hadn't got shot, we felt the wound. Our hearts and our spirits were crushed and no medical procedure could fix that. We suffered for months before we could feel anything again. We watched from out windows as bangers and drug lords swept up what few decent people would stand against them.

I watched a girl who lived next door, no older than me, get snapped up by theFalconecrime family right out from under my nose. She was turning tricks in a week and in two she was dead. "Live fast- die hard" I guess. Her name was Jenny.

I watched a thousand Jennies every month and a thousand more the next. I sat and watched the world from my relatively safe little editor's desk as it caught fire and started to burn.

However… when your neighbor's house catches fire, a good man put's it out.

But Batman had been that "good man" and he wasn't here to put it out anymore.

So **I** did.


	2. Chapter 2 The Echo

~Batman~

_Long Days, Gotham Knights_

_Chapter 2_

_The Echo_

I enlisted right out of high school in the navy and did my tours as an electronics technician for naval aircraft at whatever base or dry dock they needed me at that week. It paid my way through college and I still had enough left over after I had my degree in journalism to rent a small flat on Gotham's south side.

Life after the military and school was rough. I had a few dead-end jobs before I started writing for the Gotham Gazette. I won a contest and was given a shot to write a piece on whatever topic I wanted to. That was just about the same time the Bat had showed up and it was on everyone's mind. I did what came naturally and wrote a scorching review of the Gotham Police's protocols for prisoner transport and lauded Batman for his recent apprehension of escaped convicts. That gave me enough clout to start writing for them.

But after The Bullet, I couldn't write anymore. I couldn't sleep. Hell, I couldn't even take piss strait without thinking about "what might have been".

I was fired.

I was evicted.

I was mugged twice.  
>But I didn't care.<p>

It wasn't about me anymore. I'd hit rock bottom and the world I knew was light-years away now.

I fell in with a rough group and found myself fighting for scraps in a subway terminal.

They'd set up illegal cage fights and I had worked up a decent reputation as a scrappy contender.

I felt sick but I did it anyway.

I was numb to the punches and kicks that left my body bruised and bloody after a night of fighting.

I was in my own personal hell… that was until I found HER.

She was the last of the caped crusaders. Batman had died. Robin had run off, just disappeared like a dream moments after waking. She alone had stuck it out.  
>"Batgirl" they called her.<p>

I don't even remember if she officially fought alongside the Dark Knight when he was around of if she was just there to pick up the pieces after.  
>To her credit she did all she could, but she normally made back page news. A collar here, a drug bust there, she was an infrequent ray of sunshine on a dim cell.<p>

She told me later she did it to remind people that there was still hope, but I remember thinking back then that all she did was remind us of what he had lost.

I'd stooped so low that I was knocking over kid, 18 years old sometimes, for cash. I had five years on them and twice the strength they had. They were like bowling pins. A well placed shot and they were down for the count.

It was on one of these less-than-flattering nights that I had my first visit from her. She was vision in black and yellow. I don't remember that night so clearly these days, I must have been in a drunken haze, but the end result was a boot in my face. I remember a flourish of red hair and the pain I felt when I came to but the details are sketchy. Barbra said I threw her into a wall and gave her a black-eye for a week but I only recall the boot.

When I woke after the fight, the bar was in shambles and I was tied to one of the corners of the makeshift boxing ring we had in the backroom. She was yelling loudly and thrusting papers in my face but all I heard was the ringing in my ears and the throbbing of the my pulse in my head.

"-and if you hadn't pushed the issue Bruce might still be alive!"

"Alive?"

I didn't recall much but Bruce rang a bell even then.

"That's right dumbass! If you hadn't felt the need to reveal Bruce's identity to the Odessa Family HE MIGHT STILL BE ALIVE!"

"…Odessa?"

At that point in time, I hadn't the wit left in my to piece together that someone at the office had taken notice of my late-night investigations and sold my information out to the Odessa Crime Family hours before the shooting.

"The Ukrainian gun-runners? Ringing any bells Mr. Lysander?"

"Gun…runners?"

I heard her words but my brain was still warming up. Slowly I pieced it together and she told me later that my face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"How'd they get my… my"

"Your article? They bought it from your friend Demetrius."

"Demetrius?"

Demetrius was a funny story. He doesn't play a big part right now, but later he will. Suffice it to say, we had overlapping love interests at the time. Thinking back on it though, it was perfectly within his character to do something like that. He probably didn't even do it for the money. He probably just did it to get me the beating I was getting from Barbra.

"Your hopeless…"

She stood there like some greek goddess, poised tragically with head in hand. At that moment I could see into her soul. I felt like I knew the pain she was feeling. Maybe I had been numb for a while, but it all came rushing back like a bad headache.

"I—I didn't mean it."

"Of course you didn't numb-nuts. You where are just another kid proud to stand behind the big bad Batman when he was around and turned your back on what he stood for the moment he fell."

"That's not true at all!"

"Oh yeah?"

I remember her face that night. It was right next to mine. Inches. I could smell the faintest hint of her perfume, masked by the musk of the bar and the iron scent of blood. She was like some fierce read-headed lion roaring at a pathetic dumb brick of a man. If it wasn't so tragic maybe it would have been funny.

"Yeah… I just wanted to be like him… you know… help people… I was the same as him…"

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, I loved a few shots before a fight, but I had reverted to that kid who wrote for the elementary school paper. I had dreams of helping people once again. I believed that people where innocent and I felt that they could be redeemed.

"Fat chance!"

Another boot came to my face. She was right, I had deserved that. I had just told her that the man who helped get her mentor killed wanted to group himself in with him.

Every goddam night after that I prowled the night. Maybe I did it to try to find the wild-haired beauty that had set me straight or maybe it was to punish myself for the harm I'd done. I let myself wander down the darkest, sickest, raunchiest alleyways to find the dankest scum God almighty could dig up for me. Each morning I'd walk out with a dozen new bruises and cuts but I'd walk out with my penitence done. I would drag the degenerates to the cops and make a hasty getaway.

The pain made it real and helped me build myself up. I stopped the drinking and the sleepless nights. I stopped the fighting and the begging. I found honest work and honed my body. I made my pain into my strength. I felt the punches and kept on going. I went over the facts in my head a thousand times and I knew what I must do.

When a city cries out in pain, the echo of his cry must be the rallying call to the masses.

I became vengeance, I became the night, I became that Echo.


	3. Notes

Continuity Note:

Batman: Long Days/Gotham Knights is a standalone story. Because of all the re-writes, retcons, movies, TV shows, etc I've penned down Batman's backstory is as such:

"Batman's secret identity is Bruce Wayne, an American millionaire playboy, industrialist, and philanthropist. Having witnessed the murder of his parents as a child, he swore revenge on crime and swore an oath tempered with the greater ideal of justice. Wayne trains himself both physically and intellectually and dons a bat-themed costume in order to fight crime. Batman operates in the fictional American Gotham City. He is assisted by his crime-fighting partner, Robin (Dick Grayson), his butler Alfred Pennyworth, the police commissioner Jim Gordon. Unlike most superheroes, he does not possess any superpowers; he makes use of intellect, detective skills, science and technology, wealth, physical prowess, an indomitable will and intimidation in his continuous war on crime."

This is written in the Elseworld style of comic. It's a "What if" story centering around the death of Bruce Wayne after only five years on the job. For those not familiar with Elseworld stories- this sums it up pretty well.

"In Elseworlds, heroes are taken from their usual settings and put into strange times and places- some that have existed, and other that can't, couldn't, or shouldn't exist.

The result is stories that make characters that are as familiar as yesterday seem as fresh as tomorrow."

I originally started to write this elsewhere and have decided to continue writing here. The premise I intend to write on is as follows:

"The Batman was a force for change in the city of Gotham. For ten long years he terrorized criminals and made the streets safe to walk at night. However... that was ten years ago. The Bat was killed by, at the time, an unnamed thug. A bullet to the spine they say. His funeral was moving. He was not just a man however... he was an ideal. He showed us all what a man could do. We could fight back against the things we feared. So we rose... we who don the cloak, we- the Gotham Knights."

After the death of Batman, many imposters rose to take his place. Collectively known as "The Gotham Knights", they have no actual affiliation. Some adhere to Batman's moral code... some don't. Some chose to only masquerade in a similar costume for the publicity. All claim to work on the side of good, though good and evil are rather hard to define on the streets of Gotham. With vicious criminals like the Joker still at large, the stakes are high as ever.


	4. Chapter 3 The Lost Lamb

~Batman~

Long Days, Gotham Knights

Chapter 3

The Lost Lamb

"You're late."

"Five minutes."

"Four minutes and fifty three seconds."

"Details…"

"It's all about the details Lysander."

The two lone figures sat crouched atop Gotham skyscrapers. Echo was silent as Batgirl continued to lecture him.

To an outside observe the roles might seem reversed if you judged them only by their statures.

Barbra Gordon had been Batgirl for years. She'd kept quiet during the dark knight's tenure but now she was all that was left. Her grey blue and yellow costume had not changed in years and she was less active now so few people paid her much attention. In stark contrast to her slender form and full figured curves was "Echo". Sporting a mesomorph body type, Derik Lysander was garbed much like the old dark knight and you might mistake him for the senior of the pair. He had a much lighter grey suit cloaked in a black cowl. The trim of his uniform was accent with red and it was all together a little more padded than the original.

He had been secretly learning from Barbra what he could for months now and they'd managed to stay out of the public eye. She liked it better that way. No one came around asking questions if they were never seen. They lacked the symbolic element that Batman had utilized, but this was a different world as she constantly reminded him.

"It's the details that will get you killed or save your life. You're smarter than that."

Echo sat quietly, letting the discontent simmer as his mentor lectured him.

He had never been a proud man but there was something emasculating about Barbra lecturing him like this.

"Now… we've got an assignment."

Her word choice was interesting… she made it still sound like she was getting orders from someone. Maybe she did it to make herself feel like the old days were still around and this was just another mission.

"The Dimitrov Crime Family had just "elected" a new leader, Anton Dimitrov. He's all sorts of hell for Gotham Echo… if we let him get behind the wheels of the Dimitrov family it will be a stone's throw away from damnation. Anton is an animal, but the cops have never been able to convict him… most of the time it's only mob money that keeps him out of prison. He prowls the streets with no purpose other than his own brand of "fun". When he sees something he wants, he just takes it. My sources say he's going on one of his famous joy-rides tonight. That being said- I'll be taking point on this one."

Echo set his jaw and silently objected to her running point.

"Problem Lysander?"

"No"

"Good. You're on surveillance. Once we make the target, it'll be your job to keep me apprised of the situation in the surrounding area. Keep in com contact every five minutes or I'll assume you're dead."

Echo just nodded. He'd been on operations like this before. He generally didn't care a great deal about the details, he'd rather go in a little more "guns-blazing" than his mentor. Barbra was the opposite. She had to know all the details. She had to know how everything "fit" before she ran in. Calm, cool, controlled.

It took them just ten minutes to hone in on Anton. It wasn't hard once the shooting started. Just like Barbra had said, the man had a pension for violence few could match. They came across two bodies before they caught up with the car. Both had been shot at point-blank range with a large caliber pistol… a hand cannon.

"E… move out to the north. I don't want surprises during the take down."

"I'm closer B."

"I don't care E. Disregard target and move out to the north. I want eyes up the street so I can—"

Echo turned the comm. off as Anton's Cadillac slowed down to take it next victim. That's how he did it. He pulled up to a person to ask for directions and laid them out whit his pistol.

Barbra would likely kill Echo for disregarding her precious plan but it didn't seem to deter him.

"No no no… 3rd ave… iz' 'dis far?"

Anton's voice was smooth and heavily accented with his home country. There was something else in his voice too. It was something primal… something amused. He fiddled with his magnum in his lap as the girl answered.

"3rd? Can't be two blocks down honey. Just a right up at the light and you should see signs for it."

The gun was hidden from her view by the tinted windows that only went down half way on the back of the black luxury car. Echo couldn't see it now but he could imagine it. He could almost see Anton's hand unconsciously rubbing the revolving chamber. Echo could imagine the smell of the cleaning oils recently used on the gun. Unfortunately, the lady who Anton had selected was not so imaginative…

"Thank you my dear. Iz' been a pleasure."

"Pleasure's mine sugar. It's no pro…"

The woman froze as he placed the gun to her forehead and thumbed back the hammer.

"A pleasure."

His thick Russian accent coupled with his little mustache gave him the impression of a younger and slightly less sane Stalin.

Three things happened next.

The gun fired, the car was hit by something heavy enough to buckle the roof, and a click followed by a whirr pierced the air.

First came the click/whirr. Next the heavy object- Echo impacting the car from a free-fall. Finally came the gunshot, missing the girl by inches as the impact of the man's weight violently shook the car.

"Da' hell 'vas 'dat!"

Anton screamed as he almost fell out the door trying to get away from the roof that had crumpled under Echo's weight.

An awestruck driver looked helplessly confused as he stumbled from the vehicle as well.

"Think something hit us boss."

"дурак! What 'vas it!"

Anton looked around frantically. The roof was dented like someone had taken a swan dive from the nearest skyscraper but there was no body now. Anton frantically leveled his pistol at whatever shadows caught his eye.

"Looking for me?"

A deep voice accompanied by an imposing shadow cast itself over Anton from behind. Anton could feel the figure before he saw him.

Swinging around he wildly loosed bullets at… a phantom. Behind him was only his prized vehicle, now riddled with a handful of holes.

"Boss! It 'vas the bat!"  
>"Za Bat? Impossible! Iz' dead!"<p>

"I saw him boss! He 'vas right behind you!"

"I swear! Iz' just your nerves! Dare' iz' no such thing as-"

Anton would probably never be able to form the end of the sentence he was saying with quite as much articulation followed the punch that laid him out.

One down.

A city left.

Curious of the Character Designs?  
>Echo<p>

.com/art/Batman-Retro-Modern-101412509?q=boost%3Apopular%20batman%20redesign&qo=15


	5. Chapter 4 Stories

Long Days, Gotham Knights

Chapter 4

_Stories_

"No no! You're looking at this all wrong! Bats is DEAD. Gotham is still ripe for the picking man. Most mooks get scared off by the other heavy hitters- not me though! 'Soon as I get out of here I'm gonna saddle up with a partner or two and start right!"

Long past quiet hours, Jason Todd had a habit of keeping his cell mates awake with stories of dreams of the future. It was bad enough that three had requested a transfer but the big lug in the bunk below didn't seem to mind. Finneus Monk had been Todd's cell mate for just three weeks now but he'd already latched on to the young offender. There was a charisma about Todd that Finneus' child-like mind gravitated towards. He relished these nighttime chats. It made him felt wanted, even if he was only listening. Monk, or "Man-Child" as the other inmates called him, had the mind of a child but the body of goliath. The prison had given up hope of fitting him on a bed and had just removed the lower bunk and given him a few mattresses. He stood hunched, but if he were to make the full staggering size of his form known he would be pushing ten feet tall and would weigh in at close to two and a half thousand pounds of muscle. He had been in and out of the system for years, though mostly for accidental damages he couldn't pay off. This time however, he was sentenced to eighteen years on account of an "accident" that had resulted in the death of three people in a parked car.

This all lead to a very depressed and clingy Finneus and Jason filled the stop perfectly.

"Maybe you'll be my partner Monk. Wadda' you think?"

"Ye-Yeah?"

Monk's deep rumbling voice betrayed his hardly-contained joy.

"Yeah- sure. Why not! With my brains and your brawns we could do some serious damage you and I."

Jason was aloof- he had just mentioned it in passing as part of his own narcissistic rant about future glories but Monk latched onto the idea.

"L-L-Like Batman and Robin?"

Monk loved Batman. He'd been his idol. Like a fanatical child watching his favorite TV show Monk had a think for the dark knight.

"Sure- only richer. Much richer."

Jason folder his arms behind his head and rolled to his side. "When we get outta' here I'll even get us costumes. It'll be a goddam party Monk."

"I like parties… and costumes…."

Something about the way Monk replied reminded Jason of George from Of Mice and Men or perhaps an old episode of Looney Tunes at that moment, but he shook it off. For a long while the two laid there in silence. Jason was fantasizing about his escape and eventual (but inevitable) triumph. Monk was fantasizing about costumes.

"H-Hay Boss?"

"What is it Monk?"

"C….C….Can I….um… never mind… it's dumb."

"What is it Monk?"

Jason shifted uncomfortably and hung his head over the edge of the bunk to look at the blushing face of the behemoth who lay clutching his blanket sheepish with both hands just below his lips. He fidgeted for a moment or two before finally deciding to respond.

"C-Can I be Batman?"

Jason rolled back over and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Sure Monk. You can be Batman."

Monk really was a child...

Then a little smile played across his lips as he made a little aside to himself, "That just means Robin's taking over Gotham…"

* * *

><p>"Sorry. I don't give change."<p>

"Get a job!"

The few coins at the bottom of the coffee cup rattled as the vagrant on 5th street.

"Sorry. Only plastic. You don't happen take that by any chance, do you champ? Heh heh"

Charity.

Gotham was missing charity.

"Git' hobo 'for I call tha' 5 0 on you!"

"Get lost pappy. This is my corner!"

Kindness.

Gotham was missing kindness.

"Mommy, why is he homeless?"

"Because he didn't work hard in school dear."

"How'd you like to stop stink'en up the entrance my office pops. It's not my fault you're on the street."

Humility.

Gotham was missing humility.

**…**

"Piotr."

"Yes sir? Back so soon?"

"I saw all I needed to see. These Americans are pigs."

The Russian business man tossed his vagrant's cloths into the waiting arms of his manservant as he passed through the window of the penthouse suite. The window had been locked moments ago, but the security was lack-luster at best.

"Very good sir. Would you like these washed?"

"No point. I've gathered the data I needed. This is the city."

"_This_ one sir?"

Piotr was only in his early 20s but the butler acted with the grace and poise would wound expect in a much older manservant. Then again, he'd been serving in the Popov family almost since birth. The emphasis he put on "this" was simply a bit of his youth showing through.

"Yes. It's the one that will befit from operation _teegr _(Тигp) more than any of the other epicenters."

"Very well sir. I'll make arrangements for a prolonged stay. Will you be needing anything _unusual_?"

"Just the usual _unusual_ equipment… but loose the red. I'll need to blend in with my surroundings a bit more."

"Very good sir. Shall I download the data from the main computer now?"

"No Piotr. I'll work with an uplink. It should remain secure. I don't want to risk having anything on premise in Gotham."

Bogdan finished stripping off the filthy rags that he'd been wearing for the last two months. He cared less about them and more about his beard. He hated facial hair but a meticulously clean-shaven homeless man would have attracted the wrong kind of attention for this scouting mission.

"Oh and Piotr…"

"Yes sir?"

"Bring me a razor."

"Very good sir."

* * *

><p>"No heroes- just money."<p>

A girl screamed as Jake waved his pistol in her face.

She couldn't make him out though the ski mask but he could make her out. She was cute. He'd sat next to her on the bus a few times- a local girl. But that didn't matter now, this was business.

"I SAID IN THE BAG! YOU DEAF DUMB AND FRIGGEN BLIND B%CH! IN! THE! BAG!"

Fannie. Yeah, that was her name. Pity she had to work here at the bank.

"NO! I DIDN'T SAY O WANTED DYE PACKETS! I SAID I WANTED MONEY!"

Poor Fannie. She tried to be a hero.

Heroes don't live long.

BLAM BLAM

"NOW! NOW I NEED SOMEONE TO PUT THE MONEY IN THE BAG AND TO DO IT CORRECTLY! COR-ECT-LY! NO DYE PACKETS, NO FUNNY STUFF, JUST MONEY, NO HEROICS! GOT IT!"  
>No one stepped forward.<p>

Most of them were just whimpering on the ground.

Another woman, older and fatter, was holding Frannie's body and weeping like she was someone she actually cared about and knew. Office relationships are so superficial and cheap. It made him sick…

"You."

The woman looked up from Frannie, her hands covered in the blood of her recently slain co-worker. Her gaze meet the barrel of the still warm .22 and he could read the fear widening in her eyes as he thumbed back the trigger.

"You've got one chance to make this right. Mess up and I find another Frannie."

Margret… he badge said her man was Margret.

Margret wouldn't get up.

Probably fear.

Didn't matter.

He didn't need an excuse. He just liked one.

BLAM BLAM

"NOW MARGRET HERE DIDN'T MOVE FAST ENOUGH! SO I'M GONNA' LET YOU LOT DECIDE-"

His voice stopped. Margret wasn't dead.

"Fast…. 'nuff…."

A haunting, heavy, animalistic, panting voice repeated part of his last line from its place between the gun and Margret.

The bestial form of the shadowy demon that stood hunched with a hand between the gun was covered in some sort of short, wiry, fir. His entire form was an unnatural black that absorbed light from around it. A long, thick, heavy, leathery wings attached behind the creature's thick arms. Two blindly white eyes burned holes in the robber's soul as the creature glared him down. Two horns did a fair imitation of the tips of the cowl of batman's old uniform.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!"  
>"Hell… am… I"<p>

BLAM BLAM BLAM

The bullets did nothing as the robber fell backwards, caught off guard by the sudden arrival of the beast in black.

BLAM BLAM BLAM

"JESUS CHRIST MAN! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! I'M NOT GOIN TO HURT THEM! I SWEAR IT! I JUST WANTED MONEY!"

"Get… away… from… them…"

The robber was backing up as the crazed beast from hell sluggishly lurched towards him. He looked vaguely batman-inspired but there was clearly something unholy about this beast.

"I'M GOING, I'M GOING! YOU BETTER NOT LAY A FINGER ON ME OR I'LL SHOOT ONE OF 'EM! I'LL SHOOT ALL OF 'EM! I SWEAR!"

"….going…you…you…going… better not lay a finger on… 'em… I swear…."

The beast's voice was more a patient growl than an actual human voice and his word choice was odd to say the least. He spoke in great gasping pants like he had never spoken before. The effect was ultimately terrifying as he stalker closer and closer to the downed robber.

The robber pointed the gun at the hostages.

"TAKE ANOTHER STEP AND I'LL SHOOT! I'LL SEND THEM BACK TO HELL! YOU'LL SEE!"

The creature's eyes flashed and his jaw set. A long, low growl escaped his throat as the threat was made,

"I'll….send… you… back… TO HELL!"

Rage.

Pure unadulterated rage.

However, the intensity rage was not unwarranted as it was matched by an equally intense display of violence on the part of the beast.

When he had finished with the robber not a bone remained unbroken, a nail remained unremoved, or an ounce of blood remaining in the body. It had been supernaturally quick and brutally efficient and the mess would surly leave the criminal underworld talking for a while.

Exactly what he wanted.

Exactly what he paid for.


	6. Chapter 5 Baby Steps

Batman

Long Days, Gotham Knights

Chapter 5

_Baby Steps_

"You're wrong!"

"The hell I'm wrong, I saved her life Barbra! It's a drop in the bucket- but we're gonna' win this one life at a time."

The two of them had been going at it for an hour or more by now and they were starting to recycle the same arguments.

"You endangered others with that little stunt, not to mention the three shattered ribs and god only knows when your shoulder will work quite the same way!"

"That's not important Barbra! Her brain wouldn't have worked the same way if I hadn't taken the chance."

"It's very important Derik. You're important! If you die than any future lives you'd have saved go down the drain for just one life."

"Just one life? _Just one life_ is the reason I do this! Besides, when did I become important? All you've used me for is scouting."

"Get out."

"You're a disgrace to his memory! It's ALWAYS just one life! If you were half th-"

I deserved the slap. I even deserved the tears that followed but I didn't deserve the rest. After that augment she shut me out of her life. She moved. She changed her phone number. Maybe she even died for all I knew. I couldn't get in contact with her. So complete was here disappearance it was almost like she never existed. That day I lost a partner… and a friend.

"Jeez. He aint' no Bat but he aint' a bad imitation."

"No no Jerry, it's all wrong."

"Wadda' you mean all wrong? He's got 'em strung up in some rope from a street light."

"Yeah"

"Yeah what?"

"It's a street light."

"So?"

"Batman would'a strung 'em up on something like a gargoyle."

"Whatever, they're strung up and there is no one in sight."

"It's details Jerry. Details."

From the darkness Lysander was taking notes. Gargoyles. He'd done something mundane, a streetlight. They were right, a gargoyle would have been better.

It had been two weeks since he'd left Barbra. The two weeks had gnawed at him like a hole in his chest and it wasn't getting easier. The punks belonged to the Odessa family and beating them down didn't make him feel better.

The Odessa family was the ones responsible for The Bullet…

Lysander let cut his train of thought short. He knew the dark spiral that line of thinking would lead him to.

He needed to focus on the Odessa family. He had been working his way amongst the lower ranks, putting the pressure on the weakest links to see if he could find a way in. The Odessa family was air tight though. Since The Bullet they had been elevated to the ranks of gods amongst the scum that festered in Gotham's criminal underworld. Gods of scum were still gods and the underlings fears their leaders so entirely that even he couldn't break them. This last group wasn't as god-fearing however and one of the low level gun runners had let something slip under pressure. He'd mentioned that Alice would stop him out for messing them up. Alice Odessa, the wayward daughter had been missing for the last 3 years. His sources, limited though they were, said that she was off somewhere in Europe. She had messed up a few years back and her father had exiled her to some fancy villa no doubt. If she was back in Gotham he could find her and if he could find her he could crack this story wide open.

Still thinking like a reporter…

[Two Weeks Pass]

"So what now Jason?"

"Now we go through the wall Monk. Strait on through! Strait on through to freedom!"

"IM'BAH'MAN!" Came Monk's over enthusiastic cry as he bust through the last wall. Jason Todd knelt atop his partner's massive shoulders. Shards of concrete showered the two of them.

"THAT'S RIGHT BIG GUY! YOUR BATMAN! ONWARD TO FREEDOM!"

"RIGHT-OH CHUM!"

Jason could stomach this only because it meant getting his freedom. They had busted a few heads on their way out and that meant if they were caught they wouldn't be in the minimum security wing again…

Once they hit the forest, they were in the clear. Jason kept pace with the massive lumbering form of Monk next to him. It took three of Jason's steps to each of Monks but Jason was in top shape. He hadn't spent those days in the yard working out for nothing. He had it all planned out and he wasn't going to let himself be the weakest link. They were only a few minutes from the highway and from there it would be easy enough to get lost in the city of Gotham…

[Two Weeks Pass]

"Fourteen members of the Odessa Family confirmed sir. I've looked over your data sir and it looks solid but-"

"Piotr."

"Yes sir?"

"Tea please."

"Yes sir. But if I can say-"

"Tea please Piotr."

"Oh. Of course sir."

Piotr finally understood that his master was deep in thought and his own train of thought was very probably several steps behind his.

As he busied himself with the tea the way Mr. Popov liked it he couldn't help but sneak a glance at his figure in the front of the fireplace. His master had been staring at the fire for a solid ten minutes and Piotr suspected he would be there for a while. The young manservant shook the bangs of his bleach-blond hair out of the way of his vision before he picked up the silver tray.

"Your tea sir."

"Thank you Piotr, that is all."

"Of course sir."

Piotr couldn't help but wonder what was going though his master's mind. He was a solid 10 years older than Piotr but when he sat in the firelight with that worn expression he looked like he might as well have been his grandfather. For a moment Piotr stood at the doorway and watched his master. He had been working at some detailed plan involving the Odessa crime family for almost two weeks now. He'd combed over almost every file his master had but his master saw something that he didn't. Piotr was well educated but Bogdan Popov was a man of intimidating credentials. Degrees from three highly respected universities, a distinguished career in the arts, and now a business empire on which the sun never set. Truly he was an impressive man but what was more impressive was his ideals. Raised as a "trust fund baby", he had essentially given the majority of his trust funds to charity before he was 18. The future he'd made for himself was purely a work of his own creation. Even with the money he never changed however. Other than the necessities and the funds he had syphoned off for _project __teegr_ he had donated the rest of his own considerable wealth to charity. Bodgan always felt that he couldn't give enough. It was like a sickness. He dedicated his life to helping others and the way he knew best how to do that was through financial means. His skill didn't lay with firearms or martial arts (a subtle malformation in his spine saw to that) but in his financial savvy. With numbers he was a god and with money he was king of the gods. Piotr wasn't privy to all the detail of _project __teegr_ but it seemed like he was trying to "buy out crime"…

[Two Weeks Pass]

"YOU SAID FOR YEARS!"

"I'm sorry Marcus. Three years is all I could get you from the big man."

The sounds of the freeway all but drowned out Marcus' _friend's_ words. Even from the back lot of the abandoned gas station the sounds of the Gotham highway was deafening. Even so, the two arguing forms, one African American and one pasty white, did a fair job of competing with it's roar.

"Three years! I gave up my soul and became that THING for three goddam years! When we started this deal you promised me ten!"

"What can I say Marcus? I took the deal up the chain of command and the boss said three years. Should have asked for 20 if you wanted 10."

"FINE! I want 20 then!"

The pale gaunt man with dark sunglasses, swept back white hair, and a rock-star's smile said open palmed. It was said that this demon in the form of a man was actually a nightmare created to be the darkness and the fear of darkness in every human heart- he was a black mirror, made to reflect everything about itself that humanity will not confront.

"No can do champ. Them's the break."

"That's the most screwed up logic I've ever heard! This is some kind nightmarish joke right?"

The man Marcus was arguing just laughed, tilting his head back and letting out a heavy throaty laugh.

"Exactly! Now you get the kinda' game we're play'en!"

Marcus Cole was almost 60 when his wife Edith had been gunned down and he knew that the demon he'd bargained with for his _power_ didn't expect him to have more than 10 years in him. Still, Marcus had jumped at the chance to get revenge. This demon, this _Corinthian_ had come to him on the behalf of some greater being and offered him a chance for revenge. When he first meet the man he had not been wearing his glasses and Marcus had seen him for what he really way. His eyes were small jaws rimmed with sharp teeth. The image still bore into his soul and wouldn't leave.

"Think of it this way. It's three years to scare the living bejesus out of everyone. Scare them strait!"

As he said this, The Corinthian left Marcus alone in the back lot of the gas station. Only then did Marcus realize that this was the scene were it had all happened… Edith's shooting had happened right here. In a few minutes it would start to rain. The clouds were already rolling in.

"Don't screw with me Corinthian! I'm not done with you!"

"Look- we both come out of this happy. You get to go around dressed as some nightmarish batman, only able to exist in the minds of other for three years doing that whole _revenge_ thing, and I get off the hook."

"CORINTHIAN! THIS WAS NOT WHAT I WANTED!"

The clouds darkened impossibly fast, and the rain started to fall. This was what all dreams were like.

"Chao"

And with a snap of his fingers Marcus Cole woke up. His dream still fresh in his mind, the Corinthian always spoke to him like that. It had been two weeks since the bank and he hadn't tested out his new powers from the crappy deal he'd made with the Corinthian beyond that.

The small but constant beeping of the heart monitor assured him that this time he was awake.

"Oh grandpa! Look ma, he's awake." The sound of Marcus's granddaughter came from somewhere over his left shoulder.

"Hay dad… did you sleep well?" His daughter Hailey bent over and kissed him on the forehead as she got up from the waiting chair next to his hospital bed.

"God mom… he can't hear you. He's a vegetable."

Reed. God did that boy had a set of lips on him. If he wasn't his grandson and if Marcus wasn't in a vegetative state, he probably would have got up and gave that kid a spanking.


	7. Chapter 6 First Flight

Batman

Long Days, Gotham Knights

Chapter 6

_First Flight_

"ImBahMaaaaaaaan!"  
>The cry only grew louder as the police cruiser arched through the air, impacting a nearby fire-hydrant.<p>

"Jesus Christ…"  
>Jason Todd couldn't help but place two fingers on the bridge of his nose in a dejected motion, accompanied by a sigh.<p>

The man-child was loose and on some sort of rampage. It'd happened after he'd overturned a street vendor's cart with batman paraphernalia for sale by accident. From the wreckage he'd salvaged a triple XL shirt with a batman logo on it that he'd somehow managed to fit over his oversized frame. It was already quite torn and stretched, but somehow managed to stay relatively intact.

"This is car 402! Backup needed! Officer down! Offer down!"

Now the cops were involved. Great.

"Aye Monk! It's it about time that you… you know… settled down and-"

A hotdog stand flew through the air and landed precariously close to Jason.

"HAY! MONK! Watch it would you! I'm on your side remember!"

Monk wheeled on him, his seething rage subsiding somewhat as he looked at Jason.

"Robin! What are you doing without your mask on!"

Monk was almost child-like in his word- simplistic and almost scolding. Jason felt like he was being treated like a pet.

"Screw off Monk! I'm not putting any mask on, or tights, and there is no way in hell I'm wearing no cape!"

The recently destroyed fire-hydrant landed a few feet from where Jason stood on the far side of the street from Monk.

"Jesus man! What the hell!"

"ROBIN! LOOK!" The big oaf pointed at the cops peeking out from over the one remaining squad car.

"They can see your secret identity!" Monk half whispered and half hissed… as if the cops couldn't hear it.

"What the hell man! I'm not Robin and you're sure as hell not Batman! Don't you get it Monk! Now take that shirt off and-"

A chunk of concrete the size of his head sailed passed Jason's head. Only by a quick bob and weave saved his life.

"I'm BahMaaaaaaaan!"

There was now rage and some almost sub-human psychosis slipped into his voice.

Jason could take a hint. Monk had snapped and now he was responsible for killing two cops. He had been on the wrong side of the law one to many times and Jason knew what the legal phrases "accomplice" and "murder of a police officer" meant. It would earn him a quick trip back to Blackgate and a very long stay. Every bone in his body told him to run- and he listen.

Like a flash, Jason was over two fences and down an alleyway before Monk could toss anything else at him. The standard Blackgate orange jumpsuit would attract to much attention and all he'd managed to grab when Monk busted up the street-vendors cart was a red shirt with a robin logo on the breast pocket. He'd put it on to humor Monk in the beginning, tying his jumpsuit around his waist and parading around with the massive idiot. When he started throwing things at the cops, he had regretted indulging him. He'd been whipped into some kind of bat-fueled frenzy and one of the cops had the misfortune to call him a "criminal". That had set the big baby off. Federal mailboxes and dumpsters came before the police cruiser had sailed through the air. He'd killed two cops and no doubt he was still trying to kill the other two who'd shown up a few minutes later.

Jason was brought out of his examination of the past events by the sound of a motorcycle heading down the alleyway. The motor slowed to a crawl and Jason turned around to see a pair on a red Kawasaki slowing down to get busy. The pair got off the motorcycle and the guy, a Russian or maybe an Italian, started to feel up the broad. She was a pro, letting him get a taste before she charged him.

"My my my… what do we have here…" Jason mused as he announced himself from the deeper shadows.

The two gave a start- the guy had nearly got her top off when Jason dropped in.

"Take it off." Jason ordered.

The girl started to take it off, panic in her eye.

Jason had been smart enough to keep a shiv he'd used in prison and now wielded with a strong forearm. She was pro- she knew better than to mess with an ex-con.

"Not you doll."

The guy, a Russian boy in his early 20 with bleach-blond he could now see, looked somewhat quizzically at him.

"Just shut up and take if off ya' halfwit, you were so eager to show some skin a few moments ago."

The boy froze-up and Jason sauntered a bit forward.

In a flash, the boy drew a silver pistol but Jason flew up to disarm him on the draw before he had even brought it fully out of its holster that he'd concealed in his motorcycle jacket.

"Nice pistol kid… TT-30, that's vintage. You got good tastes." Jason explained as he marveled at his new _acquisition_.He leveled it at the boy.

"Now strip."

The boy shook, half with rage and half with fear, as he took off it motorcycle jacket, black undershirt, blue jeans, boots, and socks. He was about to remove his boxers when Jason stopped him.

"No thanks. I'm all fed up with little pistols tonight… now git'! "

He waved the gun as a signal for them to take off. The boy moved towards the bike but Jason shook his head.

"That little toy is mine now."

The boy looked distraught but kept on running, leading the hooker by the hand.

Knocking the kickstand out of the parked position, Jason Todd revved the engine a few times on his new bike. Fitting the red motorcycle helmet over his head he listened to the engine purr for a moment before he allowed himself the indulgence of a laugh.

It was good to be king.

* * *

><p>"YOU LOST MY BIKE!" Bogdan Popov bellowed at an ashamed Piotr Kuznetsov. His manservant had asked to borrow his bike for a date and he had ended up getting mugged. Bogdan was silently furious but said nothing. This city truly needed his help…<p> 


End file.
